The Plummet
by The Lady Frost
Summary: The call came. The hero had fallen. It was time for a girl from a broken city to help him rise again. (Cleon one-shot. Formerly on Red Dead Wedding.)


_**A/N: This is a one-shot Cleon. Ported over from my other pen name. That pen name is for my darker stuff and weirder stuff and crossovers. It's for my different flavor stuff.**_

_**It came to me one day at work. It's a wonderfully smutty little gift for Xaori. She loves this pair so much. I'm always sticking Mr. Kennedy with Jill. This is just to show I CAN ship him with his favorite redhead..and hopefully shows just how strong Claire can be...even when she isn't fighting the undead.**_

_**Enjoy. Read and review. We all know the drill.**_

* * *

**-The Plummet –**

* * *

_**Day 1:**_

**8:17 a.m.**

* * *

"What are you saying to me?"

"I'm saying it's bad. It's bad. He fell, Claire. The details are limited. But they're saying he fell. It's all over the office. He was in the Silverback Mountains. And he…fell." Moira's voice was so soft. It was so tender. She was being so gentle about it.

Was there a gentle way to tell someone their world had fractured?

Claire shifted where she sat, feeling the warm sun on her cold face. "Leon Kennedy doesn't fall, Moira. He flies. Where is he?"

"Hawaii. They've got him in a safe house there. It's not good. The reports are limited. But Claire…?"

Claire was already rising. She was already paying the check.

"What?"

"They're saying it looks like he's paralyzed."

Her fist closed around the bills in it. She crushed them. She crushed them in her fist while she pictured her best friend in the world in a wheelchair…broken.

"I'm coming. Tell him, I'm coming. I'm already there."

Leon Kennedy was broken.

There was no place else in the world she'd be now than at his side to help him rise again.

* * *

**Day 10:**

**5:16 p.m.**

* * *

The cup hit the far wall. It burst and threw water in a wet mess. The physical therapy assistant cowered, shaking.

"GET OUT! You fucking twit! You IDIOT! Get out and leave me the fuck alone!"

The girl bumped into Claire as she fled, crying.

In the doorway, the redhead leaned, watching him. He was paralyzed. The swelling around his spine was impossible to determine to an extent. Maybe he'd walked. Maybe he'd never walk again. It was too soon to tell.

But he wasn't dealing with it well.

He was so angry.

A god of a man-made mortal by a fall to Earth. He'd lost a battle on that mountaintop and plummeted. And it had broken his wings. His face said he'd never fly again.

Claire? She didn't believe any of it. She never had. She'd seen him get up with a bullet in his chest and fight on. She'd seen him climb out of the dark and battle back from the abyss. She knew he was capable of getting out of that chair.

She just had to get him to believe it too.

His face was heavy with a beard. He was a little smelly and a little dirty and ripe. He would NOT allow the nurse with them to bathe him. "A fucking bed bath? Like some invalid!? Get the fuck out of here!"

So, he sat in his stench and marinated like a piece of chicken.

Claire eyed him now, brow lifted.

He sneered a little. "What? You too? Come to stare at Humpty Dumpty? Go ahead, laugh. It's not like I can get up and slap the fuck out of you for it. So, chuckle it up. Why not? Har Har."

Claire shifted into the room. She shook her head and picked up the blanket that had fallen off his lap to tangle in his wheelchair wheels. He gave her a dirty look as she placed it on his lap and tucked it around him.

"You're being a big baby, Leon. You know that."

"I give a fuck, seriously. Am I not entitled? I'm a fucking cripple, Claire. You want me to be thrilled about it? Maybe I can have a party? A cripple party. We can have wheelchair races and play "who's piss bag is fuller". Because remember, I CAN'T FEEL MY FUCKING DICK TO TAKE A PISS BY MYSELF."

Claire knelt in front of him, giving him no sympathy. Although she felt it. It rolled in her and made her ache for him. But that wouldn't help him here.

"You're pissed, and that's ok. That's right on. I'd be fucking pissed too. What happened to you? It fucking sucks shit. It's awful. It's really fucking bad. But you're not dead, Leon. You're just wounded. So, you can choose to sit here and curse the Heavens and gnash your teeth and gripe at the world…or you can start working on getting out of that goddamn chair. Your choice."

She rose and turned to leave him to his misery.

He called, "Hey! Can you give me my cup back at least? I'm thirsty."

Claire gave him a cool look over her shoulder, "Get it yourself. We both know you can."

He cursed her as she left the room.

* * *

**Day 32:**

**11:14 a.m.**

* * *

"Why won't you just GO already!? Get out of here and leave me alone! I said I can't get up there again. So, leave it THE FUCK alone, Claire!"

She eyed him across the PT bars that waited for him to mount them with his hands and pull himself up. She was sweaty. He was sweaty. They were both exhausted and on edge and angry. He resisted her at every turn.

He gave up. He whined. He was a real pain in the ass.

Where was Leon Kennedy? This was his shadow. This was his doppelganger made of weakness and regret. She needed him purged to find the real Leon in that shell.

The beard was ridiculous. He was so stinky it hurt the nostrils. He was getting worse instead of better.

And she'd had enough.

She knelt in her tank top and yoga pants. The muscles in her arms bulged as she grabbed his filthy shirt and jerked him out of the chair. He shouted; she cursed, and she threw him on the bars.

He could either grab them or fall to the floor on his face.

He grabbed them.

"BITCH!"

"Shut up! Enough of your crying. ENOUGH. Put your fucking feet down and WALK!"

"I CAN'T! Do you hear me!? Are you deaf!? I CAN'T WALK!"

"YOU CAN! YOU'RE JUST NOT TRYING HARD ENOUGH!"

He was shaking. He was panting. His arms bulged beautifully beneath the dirty shirt with muscles that glistened. He was in pristine shape. He was better off than any other man alive. He could do this. He just didn't want to. He didn't want to. Because if he did it and failed…well…then he wouldn't be Leon Kennedy anymore.

He'd just be a mortal man.

And Claire was afraid the fear of that would defeat him.

She ducked under the bar. She grabbed his thighs in her hands. She looked up the line of his filthy body and spit, from between her teeth, "Move your goddamn legs, Kennedy. And stop bitching. You want to me to stop? I'll stop when you MOVE!"

He cursed at her.

But he grunted…and he moved his left leg. He grunted…and he moved his right leg.

Claire steadied his hips. She held on but she didn't help. She crouched on the floor while he cursed her…and kept on pushing.

* * *

**Day 36:**

**11:02 p.m.**

* * *

"He won't relent, Ms. Redfield. I begged. I pleaded. He won't let me help."

The poor nurse. She was trying so hard. Leon was belligerent. He was rude. He was hateful. He was so angry at the world. At himself. At his body for failing him.

The swelling was coming down. The spine was intact. But it was still too soon to know how bad the damage was otherwise. He was slipping further down with each day that passed.

She could force him to do the work in physical therapy. But it was always trying. It was always tiring. It was always emotionally exhausting. They shouted at each other. They fought.

She left him afterward shaking and raw.

They weren't best friends anymore. Not like this. She hated him. Because he was letting this destroy him.

"It's ok, Kara. I'll take care of him. Thank you."

Claire went into the huge bathroom. It was steamy. Kara had run him a bath at Claire's instruction.

Naturally, Leon wouldn't get in.

The tub was huge. A whirl meant for a trainer and a subject. It was big enough for five people. It was mostly a hot tub meant to promote muscle and nerve stimulation.

It swirled hot water and bubbles in the quiet room.

Claire eyed him in his chair. He was all beard and angry eyes. He'd been wearing the same clothes for so long she figured they'd probably have their own zipcode by now. They were stuck to him like glue with old sweat and stench.

Enough was enough here.

Claire moved toward him. He eyed her angrily. "What are you doing?"

She said nothing. She grabbed his blanket and jerked it off him. He wrestled her for it and lost. Claire grabbed his shirt and he slapped at her hands. "Quit!"

"No!" She shouted in his face now. "NO! Take it off, you son of a bitch or I will kill you!"

"Get out! LEAVE ME ALONE! HOW MANY TIMES DO I HAVE TO TELL YOU!? Go away, Claire! Before I say something I regret and we aren't friends anymore."

"Leon…you douchebag. We're already there." She turned to the nurse's cart in the corner. He watched her, eyes narrowed.

She rattled drawers, searching, and finally turned back…with a pair of shears.

He blinked and grabbed for his wheelchair wheels. Claire stuck a boot in the wheel and went around back. She hit the lock pedal and stuck him there.

Furious, he shouted, "Don't you do it, Claire! I mean it!"

She put the shears against his eye and snapped them. He froze, fuming.

"Shut up. You hear me? You shut up. Not another fucking word. Or I will rip off your pants and make you a eunuch. Do you hear me?"

She put the shears to the neck of his dirty shirt and started cutting.

She cut it down the center and ripped it. She ripped it off his arms while he sat there, roasting in his righteous anger.

Her hands shifted to his pants and he slapped at them. She narrowed her eyes and snapped the shears again.

He dropped his hands with a curse.

She jerked open his fly and yanked his pants down his legs. She did the same with his underwear. He would NOT look at her.

Not even a little bit.

She shoved him back in his chair and turned to the sink. She dug through drawers and found a bar of soap. And then she turned back to him.

"Easy or hard, Leon. Your choice here."

He scoffed and rolled his eyes.

Hard it was.

Which he was. His body was redonkulous. He was all muscle. He was scarred pretty heavily but that happened in his line of work. His hips and legs and tummy were all beautifully made. His chest and shoulders were crisscrossed in places with claw marks and bullet wounds and slashes.

It just made him look like a survivor. It made him beautiful. He was beautifully made.

No lie there.

For a big fat baby.

Claire set down the soap and whipped her hair up into a sloppy knot on top of her head. She kicked off her shoes and unlatched her belt.

His angry eyes turned to her. "What are you doing there?"

"What does it look like? I'm getting naked so I can put your stinky ass in the bath. Don't be such a girl, Kennedy. You've seen plenty of women in their birthday suit. Nothing new to see here."

But there was. He'd never seen her naked. Not in twenty years of friendship. Not once.

She was all curves and creamy skin. Freckles danced over her shoulders and her cleavage. Her breasts were nearly too much in the ugly white bra she was wearing. She was all tits and ass and hips. Stocky, strong. Her smooth flat belly flared nicely to show her hourglass shape to the soft bathroom lights.

She stripped off the bra and her breasts bounced beautifully over her ribs. Her nipples were pink and pale. And tight. Why were her nipples tight? Anger? Jesus.

He looked away, jaw clenched.

And then she pulled her panties off. And her little red mound made him shift in the wheelchair.

Unconcerned, Claire set the soap down on the tub and turned around. "Last chance. Easy or hard?"

What a question. He glanced down at his lap. And he wasn't. He wasn't hard.

But he wanted to be. For her. He wanted to be hard.

And it rolled in his guts like fire that he wasn't. That he couldn't.

And he was out of time here. Because Claire grabbed him and jerked up from his chair. She stumbled under his weight and he had to grab on to her shoulders so she didn't fall.

"Jesus, Claire. Take it easy. You're gonna hurt yourself."

"Then HELP ME, you asshole."

She shifted and settled his arm over her shoulders. He grunted and started helping. She felt something shift in her. Because he just started helping.

No fighting.

He just helped.

He did pretty well in the small distance to the tub. But it tired him. He was pretty easy to urge into the warm water. And once in it? He actually sighed with delight.

"See? Bathing is good, Kennedy. Stop being an asshat and take a fucking bath next time."

She started to rise and he grabbed her wrist. His face was so solemn. "Where are you going?"

"To get a razor. It's time to ditch the beard, Dumbledore. Unless you're planning to become the headmaster of Hogwarts."

And he laughed.

He just laughed.

And she'd never felt better in her life.

She slid into the hot water with him and offered him the soap. He took and started soaping his body while she went after his man of the mountain beard. He was patient and surprisingly receptive. She slicked the razor over his face expertly.

He eyed her, soaping his chest. "You shave a lot of angry dudes in bathtubs?"

Claire laughed and rolled her eyes, "Not recently. But I learned to shave beards when Chris was in that coma for a month. Turns out, a comatose brother makes for good practice."

Leon eyed her while she swept the razor up his chin. He said, quietly, "He's ok now?"

"Yeah. Fine. Thanks. He's hard-headed. That shit in Louisiana with that Baker family fucked him all up. But he's getting better."

She slicked the razor one last time over his cheek and knicked him. Just a little. It bled and she made a sound. "Shit. Sorry. Sorry."

"S'ok." He murmured it now, watching her eyes while she doctored the tiny cut. It was nothing. He'd be cutting himself shaving all his life. "But you made me drop my soap."

Claire leaned back, looking at him with narrow eyes. "You dropped the soap? You kidding?"

He gave her a wide-eyed look.

"Is this the start of a prison porno?"

And now he laughed again. And she ached a little. He was her best friend in the world. She missed his laughter.

"Hold on, butterfingers. Let me get it." She slid down into the water, reaching. It brushed her over him. The tips of her breasts brushed his arm and hand as she rooted around in the water for the bar of soap.

"I think it slipped away. I can't find it."

She was fumbling around his ass and legs with absolutely no grace. He said nothing, watching her face. And she finally found the soap lodged under his butt. With a laugh of triumph, she tugged it free and raised it over her head. "Ta-Da!" She called it musically, "Who's the hero now?"

She turned her grin down to him. He had shaving cream patches still on his smooth face. And the little trickle of blood from where she'd nicked him.

He wasn't grinning.

She offered him the soap.

He took it and said, quietly, "I need to wash my hair."

She eyed him, heart beating a little harder in her chest. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. Help me?"

Jesus.

She eased up and spilled some shampoo in her hands. He went back to washing his body with the bar of soap.

And she slid her fingers into the thick mane of his hair.

She talked while she worked, a little nervous. She was never nervous around him. What was this? It was interesting.

"If you want, we can really get you moving tomorrow on the heavy bars. Kara said you twitched your toes this morning. That's great, Leon. That's huge. It's a big step. It means the nerves are reconnecting."

Claire rose to her knees beside him and rinsed his hair with a cup of warm water, watching the suds spill down his chest and over his belly into the water. He tilted his head back, eyes closed, and let her.

She turned his face to make sure she got it all.

And she heard a plunk and plop of water.

Clearly, he'd dropped the soap again.

Claire said, "Christ, I don't know how you even hold on to your gun sometimes. I've never met a man who drops as much shit as you do, Leon Kennedy. Seriously. Reflexes like a cat and fingers like a cl—"

The sentence ended on a gasp. He'd turned his face to the side and filled his mouth with her breasts. It was so unexpected it stole her breath.

Claire dropped the cup in her hands. Her fingers tunneled into his hair. His hands came up and pulled her over his lap. She straddled him, gasping.

And he tried to kill her with that mouth.

Really, what had she expected? She was ALL TITS. And she was brushing them all over his arms and his side and his chest. What did she expect here?

He molded them. He mashed them together. He used teeth and tongue and suction. He tried to fit a full one in his mouth and watched it bounce when it popped out of his mouth. Christ. Why hadn't he been sucking on her tits as long as he'd known her?

His hands shifted, his mouth let of one tortured nipple with a pop of sound, and he dragged her down to him. His palms cupped and slid against her face. Hers shifted to mirror it.

She fucked his mouth with her tongue and moaned. Holy hell. She was on fire. Her best friend in the world. He was trying to kill her with that tongue of his. It raped her mouth. It swirled with hers. He grunted and shifted his hands around to grip her ass.

And she was undone.

Her mouth broke from his, gasping. One of his hands clasped around her throat and held. The other slid over her hip and cupped her firey little mound. Red, he thought wildly, like her hair. She was red everywhere. And the question of whether or not she was a natural redhead was finally answered.

He bowed her body back to see it. He bowed her body back to see HER as he filled her full of fingers. She bucked, she cried out, she rode his hand like a wild thing. Christ. He'd been wasting years being her honorary brother or something.

Stupid. STUPID.

He drove his middle finger into her heat and thumbed her slick nub at the top of her dripping sheath. Claire grappled for his arms and caught, looking for something to hold on to. He pulled her back to him by her throat and tongued her mouth, wetly. It was the wettest kiss she'd ever had.

He was something. He didn't quit. He slid three fingers into her and drilled her body like he'd kill her. She cried out and took it, bouncing. His mouth went back to those bouncing tits and feasted.

Claire tightened around his fingers, creaming, shaking. He watched her face and waited for her to get there. She tightened painfully around his thrusting digits and he shifted, he shifted, he slid down into the water and his fingers slid out of her. His hands skimmed over the insides of her thighs and she couldn't do anything but watch, watch him, watch while he moved in between her straddling thighs and filled her up with his tongue.

That was it. She was done.

Claire screamed, loud, desperate. She grabbed his face and ground him there against her needy body. He laughed, muffled in the heat of her, and it felt like a vibrator inside her. She humped against his questing tongue and came, she came so hard it hurt. She came gasping and rocking and flopping.

She figured she'd never seen anything more beautiful than all that shaggy blonde hair between her thighs destroying her.

Shaking, she dragged him up by his face to kiss him. It was wet and fluid. It was filled with her spasms and gasping. The aftershocks were trying to destroy her.

She slid her hand down his belly to touch him.

And she'd forgotten. She'd been on fire for him. She'd been so wrapped up in him she'd forgotten. Her hand slid over his body and he wasn't ready for her.

Of course, he wasn't.

She watched it echo on his face and hated herself. She'd forgotten.

And she felt like a bitch for it.

He shifted his hands and cupped her hips. He set her away from him in the swirling water.

Claire said, softly, "Leon…I-"

"It's ok. It's fine. Just…can you go? Can you go, Claire?" He shifted away, staring now at the wall. He was stiff and cold. Because he WASN'T stiff and warm. And it nearly killed him. "Please…just send in the nurse, ok? Please, Claire."

How could she say no to that? He wasn't being cruel.

He was just being broken.

And she'd just made it worse...by trying to love him.

* * *

**Day 64:**

**3:16 a.m.**

* * *

"YES! You see?! I TOLD you, you could do it."

He huffed out heavy breaths and sat down on the bench. He'd just crossed the heavy bars himself. It was the third time in three weeks. He could shift his left ankle now without prompting.

It was amazing progress.

Claire offered him a bottle of water. "Good job. Seriously. How do you feel?"

He eyed her, sipping the water. They were both sweaty. They were slick with it. She was something else. She absolutely would not quit with him. She just kept pushing.

She'd been pushing him for 20 years.

She was heaving out-breaths in that tiny sports bra she wore. Her flat tummy and heart-shaped ass were taunting him. He laughed a little. "Good. I feel good. What about you? Feel good to know you're right?"

Claire chugged water, watching him in the sunlight. The gym was big and open. It was backed by the Hawaiian countryside. It was all sand and sea and sunlight out there. It made his blonde hair look gold.

It made his eyes like seafoam.

She said, "Honestly?"

"Yeah. Honestly. Wanna have an I told you so moment? Go for it. Can't blame you."

"Not feeling good. Not yet."

"Yeah? Why not?"

"Because I'm horny."

Admittedly, he set himself up for that. He returned, gruffly, "Sounds pretty bad. Want me to spring for a hooker?"

Claire laughed. She just laughed. And he had to grin at her.

"You're an idiot, Kennedy. A real dumbass. No hookers. But thanks for the offer."

She patted his shoulder and moved past him to get his wheelchair. He grabbed her wrist, tugged, and spilled her over his lap like a dirty Santa Claus. "Let's see if I can help you instead."

Claire whispered, "Seems fair. I've been helping you all afternoon."

"True enough. Claire…damnit."

He kissed her like he'd eat her from the mouth down.

She let him roll her back on the bench and shift over. She opened her legs and he shifted in between them. He jerked up her bra, jerked down her pants, and went to town.

Naked, she quivered.

He spilled her thighs open to fill his mouth with her. She came almost instantly, gasping and humping around his tongue and fingers.

But it wasn't enough. It wasn't. She grabbed his face and pulled him up to her. And whispered, "Let me…ok? Just let me."

She pushed and spilled him to his back on the floor. He made a sound to stop her as her hands molded and painted him. She smoothed over his belly, his chest, his hips.

He made a little sound of distress and grabbed her wrist as it skimmed his groin.

"Don't. Claire…just let me. Ok? You don't have to do this."

Her eyes shifted to his face. He was so worried about it. He was so distressed. It was all over his beautiful face. What did he think she'd do? Mock him? Make him feel like half a man?

She slid her hand around his softened shaft and rolled him in her palm.

He made a small moan in his mouth and grabbed her face with his hands.

Her eyes studied his face. And she said, softly, "Can you feel that, Leon? Can you feel me touching you?"

He whispered, "Yeah. I can feel you. I can feel it. I just…I can't…I just can't."

Her heart swelled. It rolled in her chest. It beat. It ached.

And she realized she was in love with him. She probably had been all her life.

He was so afraid he'd never be able to please her that way. He thought it mattered. Didn't he understand? It didn't matter if he couldn't ever get hard again. She was crazy for him. She'd take him paralyzed or blown up or crippled from the neck down. She'd take him any way she could get him.

It wasn't his dick she loved.

It was HIM.

So, she breathed, "That's ok, Leon. Because I can."

And she slid down his body to show him. She took the whole length of him into her mouth. Soft, he fitted there perfectly. She could swallow all of him and savor. He cried out and grabbed handfuls of her hair.

She milked him. She worshipped him. Her nails carved over his chest and played with his nipples. And she tried to swallow him whole.

* * *

**Day 87:**

**2:13 a.m.**

* * *

She stepped out of the shower, sighing.

It was a long day. A set back in the gym had sent Leon angry and hurt to his room.

He hadn't come out again all day.

He was improving. Daily. He was dedicated to it now. And he was the strongest thing she'd ever seen. He got up. He got up. And he got up.

He never stayed down for long.

But he was still down.

He hadn't touched her since that day in the gym. She knew he was hating himself because he had no control over his erection. He couldn't get one.

It made him feel like half a man.

It was that simple.

It was that painful for them both.

She'd told him, "Why does it matter, Leon!? It's just a stiffy! Buy a fucking dildo! Who cares!?"

And he'd shouted, "I CARE! I CARE, Claire! I DO! Imagine if you never got wet again. Imagine if I slid my fingers inside of you and you felt NOTHING. Imagine it! And ask me again why it matters!"

"Leon…it's just one part. Just one. You think you can't make love to me without it?"

And he'd laughed, dark, lost, angry. "I'm a MAN, Claire. A MAN. A strong, virile, HORSE of a man. I LIKE TO FUCK! I love it! How can you stand there and act like it doesn't matter?! I WANT TO FUCK YOU!"

Oh, he'd shouted it. It thrilled her. It made her excited to hear it. She'd NEVER had a man yell it at her before. Oh, lord. She loved him.

She'd shouted right back, "THEN DO IT! WHAT'S STOPPING YOU!?"

And he'd laughed again, derisively, "MY DICK! MY DICK IS! BECAUSE I LITERALLY CANNOT DO IT! AND I CAN'T TAKE YOUR PITY ANYMORE!"

She'd blinked. She'd relented. And her heart hurt. "Leon…you think I keep touching you out of pity?"

"Why else? Why else, Claire? Twenty years and you've never even once tried. Why now? Because I'm a cripple. And you're my friend. And you don't want me to give up because I'm not a fucking man anymore. So, you toss me a pity throw down to make yourself feel better and make me feel less like a fucking disgrace."

She jerked as if he'd slapped her. She rose. And she'd spoke low and soft, "You're hurting. You're mad. But you won't ever talk to me like that again. You won't ever suggest I'd sell myself short like that again. EVER. Do you hear me? I have NEVER felt sorry for you. Ever. The only person here worried about your god damn dick is you. You know where to find me when you're ready to apologize."

And she'd left him alone in the gym.

Two hours later, he'd fallen off the heavy bars and had enough.

He hadn't spoken to her since.

The small knock on her door had her moving to open it. He was there.

Standing.

He was there standing with a set of crutches under his arms. And she forgot to be mad at him.

"OH MY GOD!"

She laughed and grabbed his face. "When!?"

"The last few hours." He grinned at her. "The CT Scan came back clear, Claire."

Her eyes jerked to his face. She'd been looking at his feet in those adorable socks he was wearing to prevent slipping. She blinked again. "What?"

"It came back clear. No permanent damage to the spine."

She grabbed his shirt and fisted her hands in it. "Oh my god. Oh my god. Say it again."

He laughed. He laughed and said, "All clear, kid. This guy? Not paralyzed."

"Oh my god," She was kinda laughing and crying as she wrapped her arms around him. He shifted on the crutches and laid his cheek on her hair. "Oh my god. I can't stop saying it!"

And he laughed again, loving her.

"Good. I'm kinda glad about that."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. After the CT Scan, I was sitting in the car and thinking about you. And I just thought…why hadn't I been burying my face in your tits all these years? I couldn't find the answer, you know?"

She shifted, picturing it. Her face warmed and the excitement of it pooled between her thighs. "Hmm. I'm curious myself."

"Stupidity probably. Or insanity. But anyway…" He limped into the room on the crutches. He pulled them out from his arms and settled them against the wall. Claire shifted, looping her arm around his chest to hold him up.

"Easy, Leon. Careful."

"No. Not easy. Not anymore." He caught her by the hips and threw her. He leveraged her in one arm and tossed her on the bed behind her. She bounced, laughing a little. "Not easy, Claire. And not soft."

Her eyes shifted to his face. She blinked again. "What?"

"Not soft. I thought about you today. And I wasn't soft. Not anymore."

She made a small sound. He kinda flopped down on the bed. Not graceful but it did the trick. He grabbed her ankles and jerked her toward him.

Claire made a small sound of need.

He jerked the towel off her body. She spread her legs.

His cock didn't claim her. His cock conquered her. It split her in half. He fucked her so hard it came out of her mouth in screams.

She was afraid HE'D come out of her mouth and through her body.

He ripped her apart with each thrust. It was like dying and flying and breathing. It stole hers. It was wet and meaty. It was raw.

He held her down, all muscles and slick skin. Her hands grabbed his hips. And he SHOWED her why it mattered. He showed her why he needed his dick to claim her.

Fat and hungry, it plunged into her creamy heat while she keened. He pressed her knees back, she held them open, his hips shifted to her hips to grind her into the mattress as he used her. He used her body like a whore. He fucked her as if he'd kill her. Like he'd brand the shape of his cock into the core of her.

She was so wet she was soaking the bed under her. And his mouth.

His dirty mouth.

He tongued her mouth in time with his plunging body. He spoke into her ears. Dirty, raw, needy. How much can you take, Claire? How much can you take?

His hand wrapped around her throat. His other gripped her hair. He jerked her head back to take the relentless thrust of his tongue into her gasping mouth. She was so slick with sweat, he was soaked in it.

He didn't even take off his shirt. His pants were tangled around his knees. It was so filthy. Her hands grabbed his ass and yanked him faster, harder, deeper.

He grunted, he ground himself into her. She bowed, shaking, jerking. He hit the end of her with every plunge. Her needy center sucked him in to savor each sticky drip of want that swirled with her juices to brand her.

He licked her tongue, sucked her mouth, and kept on plowing her belly while she made some kind of sound like a leaky balloon. He grunted, "This is why Claire. This is why. I like to fuck. I need to fuck you like this. Like this. I need to fuck you. Do you need it?"

Oh my god. He was so dirty. She loved him. She craved him.

She gasped, "Yeah. I need it. Harder, you son of a bitch."

And he laughed. He laughed and fucked her so hard it hurt her. It hurt. And she loved it. She grabbed handfuls of his hair to jerk his head down. She sucked his tongue. She smashed her hips into him to take each driving, fat, sticky inch of his plunging dick between her soaking thighs.

He grabbed her face. He grabbed her throat. He shifted his hips and rolled hers into him, angling her down into the mattress like he'd smash her into it and leave her for dead.

And he growled, "Scream for me, Claire."

Jesus.

She screamed. Because he was driving her into the headboard. He was spilling her half off the bed with each thrust. She pushed on him and rolled him. They grappled. And she slapped down on him like a red storm.

He filled his hands with her breasts. He filled his eyes with her face.

She was all sweaty hair and freckles and slick pale skin. She dipped down to wetly take his mouth. And then she rode him like she'd kill him.

Slick and wet, hard and fast, she pistoned her body atop his like she'd take it with her when she came. Her soaking cunt sucked him, fucked him, and furiously destroyed him. He grunted, he groaned, and he rose to sit up and spill her in against him.

His hands jerked her hair, his teeth savaged her throat, and he shifted her. Just a little. Just a tiny change of angle. And somehow it was the one meant to kill her.

He crushed into her cervix with each brutal thrust. She screamed into his mouth, she bounced on his lap to take more. The dirty little thing that she was, she fucked his mouth and forced him harder into her body.

He jerked her into him, grabbed her hips, and forced her down on his driving body so hard it echoed. It slapped. It sounded wet and filthy and raw. She mewled, she gasped, she actually fought against it…and then she came all over him.

She came, bucking and grunting and gasping. She tossed her fiery tresses and grabbed his and ground her sticky release all over his lap.

And he FELT it all.

Jesus Christ.

He felt her.

And he raped another scream from her mouth as she plowed up into her two more times and came in her pulsing heat. He actually cried out with the pain and pleasure of it. It robbed his breath. It robbed hers. It was nearly scalding in her slippery cunt.

He tongued her shivering breasts and humped her through his release.

And Claire felt the world dip and roll around them.

She leaned back, watching his face through the sweaty tangle of her hair. He'd fallen. He'd broken. But it was her that was wounded.

It was her.

Because she'd fallen too.

And there was no CT scan on Earth that could tell her she'd be ok.

She'd plummeted. She was paralyzed…and in love with Leon Kennedy.


End file.
